


les lunettes

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gentleness, Javert Lives, M/M, Old Age, Tiny bit of Angst, soft old men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: On the fourth consecutive day that Javert returns from his work with a headache, Jean decides that enough is enough.Or, Javert needs glasses and he's not into the idea.





	les lunettes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Misty_W](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misty_W/gifts).



> Inspired by this - http://mistysblueboxstuff.tumblr.com/post/179512556607/javert-finally-caves-in-and-gets-glasses-finds
> 
> But, obviously, he wasn't going to make it easy on himself...

On the fourth consecutive day that Javert returns from his work with a headache, Jean decides that enough is enough. 

Javert tries to hide it, but he does a poor job. Jean can tell by the clamp of his jaw that he is suffering once more, and proves it to himself by closing the hall cupboard door louder than is necessary, forcing a wince from his companion. 

“You did not need to do that,” Javert grumbles, pressing a palm to his forehead. “I would have confessed, had you questioned me.”

“I doubt it, my dear,” Jean says softly, reaching to take Javert’s coat. Now he has made a racket he is sorry for it, but not so sorry that he would not do it again. 

“Come through. Toussaint brought a fresh bottle of the tonic this morning. And I let the fire burn low too.”

Javert makes a noise in his throat and follows placidly to the kitchen. Toussaint’s tonic is the only thing that has been soothing his hurts these past few days. Javert has tried to tell Jean that the unusual April heat is to blame for his aching head, that he suffers so every time the air becomes cloying and thick, but Jean does not believe him. And now, on the fourth day in a row, he is going to have his say.

“Sit,” Jean says, fetching the bottle and a cup, which he places before Javert. He collects another cup and fills it with cool water, then sits down himself. Javert pours out some of the tonic and pinches his nose as he drinks it – Toussaint has been apologetic about the taste, but there is no denying that it seems to work. He takes a gulp of the water to wash it down, then sits with his face resting carefully in his palms. 

“Say what you must,” he mumbles between his fingers. “I know you have something on your mind.”

Jean smiles to himself. Javert sounds like a man about to go to the gallows. Of all the things that he has had the privilege of learning about Javert in their months together, the most surprising is that Javert is a man afflicted with vanity. One would hardly imagine it to look at him, but there it is nonetheless. 

“You know what I am going to suggest, my dear, or else you would not look at me so. I think that you need to acquire some spectacles. Your headaches are from excessive reading, I am sure.”

Javert snorts, then groans quietly, peeking out from between his fingers. 

“I am not yet so old. I told you that the pressure in the air-”

“I know what you said,” Jean says gently, pushing the water cup forwards once again until it nudges Javert’s elbow. “But please, consider this – all manner of people wear spectacles these days. They are not for old people. Why, would you call Aunt Gillenormand an old woman?”

It is a calculated remark on his part, he knows. Cosette’s aunt Gillenormand is no older than Javert and the proud owner of a golden pair of spectacles that seem never to leave her face, even when she is not reading. Javert hardly thinks highly of the woman, but he cannot deny that they are of a similar age, and that she no longer holds books so closely to her nose that she cannot turn the pages. 

“Why are you determined to age me?” Javert grumbles, taking up the offered cup and draining it. “Is it not bad enough that I am stuck behind a desk most days?”

“Indeed, the fact that you are behind the desk is the reason that you need them. Think how many more reports and papers you are reading these days. It is no wonder that you are getting these headaches.”

Javert cannot argue with him, and they both know it. It is not the first time they have exchanged these words, or ones similar to them anyway. So far, it has always ended with a curt rebuff and a request to change the topic of conversation. 

Javert is afraid of getting old. That is the true problem, and Jean does not know how to help him with that. He only knows that he does not want the man to be in pain. 

There is one more thing he can think of. 

“If you did consent to try a pair of spectacles – just for reading – I imagine that you would be able to work for longer. If you don’t – well, if these headaches are any indication, you might be forced to retire much sooner than you would like.”

Jean watches as Javert’s shoulders drop, the tightness gone, and knows that he has won. The truth is that he would sooner have Javert at home with him, but he’d never stop the man from doing what makes him happy. He understands the need to be useful just as well as anyone.

“You are a devious man, Jean Valjean,” Javert finally says, lowering his hands to the table. “But I suppose you are right. It may not hurt to try.”

There is a soft look in Javert’s eyes as he edges his hand towards Jean’s. Jean takes it and raises it to his lips, kissing it. He allows his lips to linger as he meets Javert’s gaze. There is a question there, still to be answered.

“No pair of spectacles will make you any less than the handsomest commissioner in the whole of Paris,” Jean teases. “And no less than the handsomest man that I know.”

Javert blushes a bright red.

“You do not need to mock me. I already agreed to try.”

“Perish the thought!”

Jean gets to his feet, grinning, and goes to Javert’s side. He presses his lips to that beloved head, and rests his cheek there afterwards. 

“I would never mock you, my dear. You know that.”

Javert mutters under his breath, but he takes Jean’s hand anyway, pressing it to his forehead and sighing in relief as the pressure eases once more.


End file.
